Unrelenting Sanity
by LightofEvolution
Summary: In a dystopian world, Hermione is barely alive inside. Is an unhealthy encounter with Draco Malfoy going to change that? A birthday gift for MrBenzedrine. Trigger warning, M for a reason!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is a birthday gift for my friend and beta MrBenzedrine.**

 **Maybe I should explain some things about this (probably) three chapter story. Usually, I'm a person that writes light-hearted, awefully cliché romantic comedy with a bit of science stuff and smut thrown in, because that's the kind of person I mostly am. MrBenzedrine, however, is a sucker for darker stories (try the award-winning story Squirm if you don't know what I mean), although she can also write stories that have you wet your pants in laughter. This dark story is a gift for her, because she always encourages me to go to my own limits and overstep them. I am guilty to unload most of my personal rubbish on her that threatens to break me sometimes, and she patiently listens and believes in me. I feel blessed to know her.**

 **By the way, I'm aware some might not like this stuff, but as long as MrBenzedrine does, I'm okay with that. If she doesn't like it, well... then she needs to adopt my WIP because I'm going to stop writing then, no pressure, A.! ;)**

 **Special, giant shout-outs to LondonsLegend, who beta'ed this brilliantly and kindly, to WayMay for her faithful support, and Sam Wallflower, who read this story first (and didn't send me to the Janus Thickey ward for it).**

 **Trigger warning: scenes of sexual nature with dubious consent and graphic violence are in this story.**

 **Disclaimer: Nothing of this is mine, I'm just playing with the characters and don't even make money with this.**

*()*()*()*()*()*

" **And the most terrifying question of all may be just how much horror the human mind can stand and still maintain a wakeful, staring, unrelenting sanity." (Stephen King)**

*()*()*()*()*()*

"Drop the knife!" There was an edge of panic in Draco's voice.

"No."

"Please, Hermione…don't hurt them, they're innocent. You're not really capable of seriously harming an innocent human soul." Draco Malfoy pleaded for the life of his wife and son. How remarkable.

She let the knife scrape over the whimpering witch's throat in her grip, drawing a trail of blood. "Times change. Maybe I am now." And she didn't even feel…anything.

*()*()*()*()*()*

They say history is told by winners, but there were no winners in the Second Wizarding War. What began as a rather small - in the grand scheme of things - Battle of Hogwarts, spread into a fully blown civil war, swallowing more blood and demanding more death among wizardkind than the Spanish Inquisition or the fall of the Roman Empire.

On that fateful day in May 1998, Harry Potter had, indeed, killed Lord Voldemort after an epic duel that left the air around them fizzled with magic. But upon the sight of her beloved Master dissolving into nothingness, Bellatrix Lestrange immediately rammed a poisoned dagger directly into the Chosen One's body, leaving him to drown in his own blood within moments.

Hermione stood on the sideline, horror befalling her entire being. The shock quickly replaced by ire, and as the battle wore on, she executed the deadly ways of magic for the first time, instead of being at the receiving side of the wand.

The parties left the battlefield, morning the dead and healing the wounded, but in the end…the war continued.

Hermione didn't know how the history books would portray their era later on, but maybe they would be able to rationalize why the bloodshed in the one-to-one fights transformed into the stellar rise of a pureblood reign. Fighting on the front line of what remained from the Order of the Phoenix, she was confronted with the fast building prison walls of an elite oligarchy of magic, money, and might, organising and manipulating society. Wizards such as Draco Malfoy thrived in the new era, coming into their power. The young Malfoy scion, no longer hiding behind his father's robes, rarely left his desk to bother with dirty work these days, having his minions, dressed in purple Auror robes, at his every will. While he sat in his flashy office in the Ministry of Magic, only occasionally going on missions to take on 'threats of peace', Hermione Granger was fighting for her sanity and life.

When the war was still in full swing, she took down opponents without mercy. The light in her eyes, first shining with tears for her friends and with determination to end the fight, quickly faded as she embraced the sick thrill of power that came with taking down an adversary down with force. Soon resignation and defeat overcame her, and that small flame inside of her was snuffed out, once and for all, when she was caught.

The witch had nothing to lose when they dragged her, bloodied and in chains, to a parody of a court. Declared guilty, they broke her magical core. That was the day the darkness broke Hermione Granger. They didn't even bother with finishing her off with a merciful _Avada_ ; instead, she was dropped in the dirty streets of London. Her clothes were ripped. She was nearly starved and was closer to death than life. Later, she couldn't remember how she survived - she simply did.

Someone took her into a hospital where she was healed, physically at least. With no identification or record on her in the past years, she quickly disappeared under the radar of the muggle authorities. But that was good; she didn't want to draw anyone's attention on her person.

The former witch was too tired to fight, too broken to start over, too 'unqualified' to earn more than the absolute minimum for a job. She never stayed anywhere for long, renting small, impersonal one-room flats, barely getting by with working as a waitress or help.

Hermione only existed from day to day, her thrive for knowledge long forgotten, her love for her family and friends buried along with them. Somehow, the numbness inside of her was a consolation, and she was a master of distancing herself from the world around her.

Until one day.

*()*()*()*()*()*

She closed the door behind her, turning the keys in the lock. A feeble attempt at keeping the danger outside, she knew that. And it was _especially_ useless when the danger was already inside, sitting on her sofa. There Draco sat, surrounded by two Aurors, one leg crossed over the other while he casually twirled his wand in one of his slender hands. His whole persona was a display of superiority over her. In contrary to Hermione, the years had been kind to Draco, and he exuded power with every breath.

His grey eyes locked on hers, and she immediately felt dirty.

"Look who decided to finally make an appearance. It's not polite to make one's guests wait, you know? Not that you-" he pointed his wand at her and she flinched automatically, expecting a curse without preamble, "would recognise proper manners, Granger."

"What do you want? Finally come to finish me off?" she spread her arms in an inviting gesture. "By all means! Took you long enough!" Something in her voice triggered a response in Draco for he stood and bridged the short distance to her in three steps.

He stopped mere inches from her, and she practically felt his voice when he snarled, "Are you insulting my capabilities, _mudblood_?"

"Would you kill me if I said yes?" In an act of defiance, she raised her chin and met his icy glare. He was much too close. Not that distance would bring safety. Nothing for her was safe, except death.

In a split second, Draco had turned her and pinned her face-first to the nearest wall, her arms twisted behind her in his painful, unrelenting grip. She didn't want to grant him any gratification, so she suppressed her reactions to his manhandling by biting on her lip. The blood she drew felt strangely soothing in her mouth.

"Selwyn, Fawley, you're dismissed. I'm going to take care of this one _personally_ ," he commanded with an authoritative voice, and Hermione heard two sounds of apparition in short succession. She was alone with a demon.

His hold on her remained, and she felt the expensive wool of his robes scrape uncomfortably over the exposed skin over her hip and lower back where her cheap t-shirt had ridden up.

"My instinct didn't betray me when I found someone high up should pay you a visit in order to make sure you're still posing no threat to our peaceful, worthy, magical community. The one you're no longer a part of." Despite her insides being numb for so long, the woman felt a visceral shiver at his breath ghosting over her skin next to her ear. Her captor continued his monologue, "It gives me so much pleasure to see you writhing in the lowest levels of the muggle society, not even able to master a simple levitation spell. Alone. Helpless."

"You always got off on other's pain," she almost didn't recognise her own voice, husky and raw.

A cold, humourless chuckle was his reply while he pressed more of his weight against her body. "Power, not pain, _mudblood_." Draco shifted his body slightly, keeping her wrists fastened by one of his hands, the other tracing in a mock caress over her back, only to have his fingers grab around a bunch of her dull curls. He yanked her head back painfully slow, forcing her body to arch her back against him and her stance to widen. She was trapped between him and the wall. Long, absent dread coursed through her veins, her heartbeat quickening.

He stepped in the newly opened space amidst her legs, securing her position with his knees.

"You're at my mercy now, Granger, don't you agree?" It came to her that he wasn't speaking of killing her, judging by the way his intimate parts were now pushed up against her arse, a hard mass in her cleft signalling his definite arousal. Sick fucking bastard. He must have thought he would elicit a reaction from her with that; have her cowering in fear and sobbing at his feet, pleading with him to spare her. Dread and maybe anticipation? Yes. Fear? No.

"That would mean you have some mercy in you, but I don't think you ever did."

A dark and potent part of her wanted him to violate her, to make her moan in pain - to prove to her that she could still feel.

 **A/N: I'd be very happy if someone feels inspired to make a cover art for this story, because... I simply can't do that.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's the next chapter of MrBenzedrine's birthday present, yay!**

 **Seems not many people read or liked it, but one of the most important lessons MrBenzedrine taught me was to write for myself and not for reviews. On the other side I really, really appreciate and cherish every single one. Thanks so much for them! And: as long A. likes it, I'm happy!**

 **I had the pleasure to have LondonsLegend as a beta here, a very patient and so very talented person that manages to make me see the error of my ways and still keeps the character of a sentence. A big THANK YOU! Another giant shout-out goes to Waymay for helping me with the plot development! And, of course, to Sam Wallflower, who provides us with such amazing art as in the cover for the story, you are AWESOME, Iris!**

 **Trigger warning: As I mentioned in the last chapter, this contains some dub-con, so if you don't want to read that, stop here, please.**

 _A dark and potent part of her wanted him to violate her, to make her moan in pain - to prove to her that she could still feel._

"I was turned into a ferret once. But that was obviously the wrong choice for me. I'm rather a feline; a predator. And you are the helpless mouse I'm going to play with." Draco increased the pressure of his warm body against her cold one when she struggled against him.

"That makes no sense whatsoever, arsehole! I'm not your plaything!" Instead of replying, he nipped at her exposed neck and trailed a hungry tongue over her skin, shivers erupting where he touched her. Her stomach dropped, and Hermione knew she was seconds from losing her meager breakfast and lunch.

After he bit in her earlobe hard enough to make her gasp, the wizard released her.

"This isn't over. Prepare for another… meeting between us old schoolmates, Granger."

"I'd rather be dead."

Draco actually snorted, as if amused by her deathwish. "If you really wanted to die, you would have done it by now. Or maybe you're too much of a coward to finish yourself off? Too poor for a toxic cocktail?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy," she cursed, revolted at how acutely he read her.

His response came some seconds later, with a thoughtful, albeit undoubtedly threatening tone in his words. "Maybe."

He brandished his wand, some bluish sparks exiting from the tip and settling on her wrist, forming an elegant silver bracelet that closed with an audible click.

"Much flashier than a collar, isn't it? Magic is such a handy gift - with this pretty _accessoire_ , I can find you, if I desire so. And I will."

Without looking back, Draco left her flat, disapparating without a sound, and Hermione was alone. She could hear her heart resonating in her ears, the adrenaline rush faded and she sank to her knees in the middle of her barmy flat.

She was disgusted. Nauseated. On edge.

But for the first time in years, she felt alive.

*()*()*()*()*()*

Hermione proceeded with her life as usual, knowing running and hiding weren't an option as her new silver bracelet dangled around her arm. A fellow waitress in the café she worked in asked her if it was a gift from a new admirer, and she answered, "More of an old one." The girl gushed over the romance in that, demanding more of Hermione's story to interrupt their montone routine, but the brunette declined, barely making it into the washroom before throwing up.

The excitement, thrill, and horror of the meeting with Draco ceased with every passing day, and soon she was back to the shell of herself she had perfected in the years after her downfall.

He came back exactly a week after their first encounter, though this time, he was alone. His posture remained unchanged on her sofa, his twirling wand a silent symbol of her inferiority.

Hermione tried very hard not to show her mixed feelings of horror and excitement as she hung her coat on the rack and slipped her shoes from her feet. She needed something to occupy her hands, now that she couldn't fiddle with her own wand anymore.

"Have you been waiting for me to come back, Granger?" Draco's voice was almost playful as he stood up from his seat on the couch.

"In your perverted dreams, Malfoy," she snarled, her body tense. He advanced on her slowly, and the moment she could smell his expensive cologne, instinct commanded her to step back. Though, it was illusionary that she could evade him. When her body collided with the wall, he still followed her, until he was close enough to cage her in with his arms.

He loomed over her, his quicksilver orbs burning into her skull, poisoning her mind. Then again, there was not much sanity left in her to poison.

"You know which game I want to play with you, Granger." One hand wandered to her hip, pushing her further into the wall. The surprisingly warm thumb traced irritating circles on her skin and spread an unwelcomed heat between her legs. She hated the fact she was excited about this, that his erection pressed into the juncture of her hips made her feel.

Even though disgusted of herself, it brought her solace because it proved her wakeful humanity. Knowingly abandoning, perhaps, the last grasps on her sanity, she relaxed her muscles.

"And I decided to win this game you've forced on me." While a flicker of surprise and something else passed over Draco's face, she pushed herself forward and captured his lips with her teeth. It wasn't a kiss. It was a spark, creating an inferno that could burn their once-merged worlds down. He regained control immediately and pulled his lips back, only to come back at her with a real kiss. Draco forced his tongue into her mouth, skilfully chasing hers. A hand cupped Hermione's jaw and, albeit, husky with lust, his words held an uncanning, dark truth when he said, "You already lost so long ago."

Forsaking her the right to answer back, he engulfed her mouth with a bruising kiss which made her moan involuntary. It had been so long since someone touched her with the remote sense of intimacy, and her senses were flooded with the emotions such a contact brought. Without a second thought, she kissed him back with all she had. She knew this was wrong on so many levels, that it was dangerous, even more than just potentially deadly. She hooked one of her legs around his hip. This, in turn, caused Draco to groan, as his hard member was trapped between them now.

Hermione felt wetness pooling between her legs at the sound and touch. She kissed him with all her might, their teeth clashing, their tongues fighting for dominance. His pelvis began grinding into her, causing the desire to spread in her whole body, igniting every nerve. She had no idea how long they had been standing there when he cut their movements off with a sharp nip at her bottom lip.

"You really want this." It wasn't a question. However, even if she had wanted to neglect him, she wasn't certain he would have let her; Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted.

She shrugged her shoulders like a pettish teenager. "it's not as if I have anything else to do." Somehow, the powers between them had shifted.

Something in her reaction must have caused him to snap, for he gave an animalistic growl and bent down, only to lift her up into his arms. With unerring certainty, Draco carried her to her small, quaint bedroom, which made her question how he knew where it was. However, all of her thinking was forced into the background when his opened lips wandered over the skin on her neck, trailing deeper without hesitation while his fingers expertly opened her blouse. The moment he had her divested of it, he unhooked her pale blue cotton bra behind her back, and exposed her breasts to the cold air.

Hermione used the time he needed to unzip her trousers to undress him. Though, the heightened level of arousal, caused by his nimble manipulation of her nipples with his teeth, made her impatient. Instead of unlooping every button, she simply ripped his short open - it wasn't as if he didn't have enough of the expensive shit.

Draco didn't waste any time and pushed her knickers down with her trousers, leaving her standing entirely naked in front of him, but only for a moment. Then, he pushed her down on her mattress with more force than a genius lover would do. Lying on her back, she observed how he got rid of his remaining clothes, his erection springing free from its confinement. Of course, he had to have the perfect cock; a solid length and girth, slightly upcurved, and Hermione knew he'd make her scream with that tool.

Reflexively, she bent her legs at the knees, making space for him to claim her wet heat. He perceived her movements with darkened eyes, and she saw his dick twitch in anticipation. She considered what it might be like to taste the precum leaking from the engorged tip, but she didn't want to be in such a vulnerable position in front of him. No, she wanted to have her eyes on him all the time, giving her the illusion of control.

Draco was no different. He muttered, his voice husky of lust and his eyes resting on the trimmed curls between her legs, "I'd really like to sample that leaking pussy of yours, Granger, but we can't have that. I don't want your thighs around my neck."

Maybe she nodded to that. She didn't know, because she kept her concentration on the man as he lowered himself onto the bed and crawled up to her, covering her body with his. For a brief moment, panic flickered up in her but was quickly replaced with anticipation when he positioned himself at her entrance. With a strong, fast movement, he entered her to the hilt, causing the both of them to gasp.

She had been afraid for a second that it would hurt due to lacking lubrication, but he glided in like he had done this a thousand times. For a second, they stilled, locking eyes, and Hermione got lost in the depth of his stare.

When she thought back on it later, she couldn't recall who started moving; for all she knew, it could have been her, tilting her hips up in a rhythm much older than them or those vicious pureblood beliefs. It started slowly, but with fastly increasing frequency. Every time he bottomed out, she missed the connection, and every time he pushed in as deep as he got, Hermione gave a moan, a gasp, a keen. He touched parts in her no other man had reached so far, though she'd never tell him that. How she hated being right sometimes.

The tension in her coiled further with every thrust he made, and sounds of ecstasy fell from Draco's lips. Hermione wanted to exercise one ounce of control, and so she hooked her legs around his waist, changing the angle of penetration to something delicious.

"Fuck, Hermione!" The blond pressed the words out with an unknown urgency before his thrusting became erratic. His admission handed herself over to the beginnings of her orgasm. With a final cry, she arched her back and closed her eyes, shutting out the man who brought her unbelieving pleasure. Distantly, she noticed him shouting out his release and felt him shooting his load into her spasming pussy.

*()*()*

With an unreadable mask on his face, Draco set his feet on the floor, leaving her still panting and naked on her sweat-soaked bed sheets.

"You won't tell anyone," he declared.

Hermione merely gave a shrug, the movement of her body causing more of his seed to drip out of her. Whom would she even tell? Who would listen to her, a rebel of a defeated rebellion? What would she gain?

When he wove his wand over her, she was certain he would obliviate her, but instead, he installed a contraceptive spell. She felt the magic seeping into her womb, making her dizzy, elated. Her synapses soared at being bathed in magic again, like addicts praying for another fix. Thus occupied, she barely heard the sound of his disapparition.

She stared at the non-descriptive wall until the sun had vanished for the night before she moved even an inch. Stepping into the shower, she let the water wash away the visible remnants of their fuck. And, finally, she cried for the first time in years; over herself, over her friends, over what happened to her in her bedroom. And it's relief. And shame.

*()*()*()*()*()*

Hermione's wakeful state remained longer this time, she even began to be aware of her environment.

That wasn't a good thing, though, because she saw Ron in every ginger haired man she saw on the street, bringing up images from his death in a Death Eater attack, his blue eyes open, but not seeing, the green aura of the killing curse pulsating around his body.

She heard Luna in every airy giggle, that lovely sound that had turned into screams of pain when she succumbed to insanity under the torture of the _Cruciatus_.

Hermione spotted Harry in every lopsided grin and replayed his mouth going slack when the blade pierced his ribcage.

Her parents, Ginny, Seamus, Dean.

She remembered forgotten things, and wished the numbness back.

Draco came back a week later and calmly waited on her sofa. She didn't greet him; instead she unbuttoned her blouse, all the while looking at her hands, trying to find a halfway reasonable explanation for her behaviour - to no avail.

When her simple white cotton panties fell to the floor and her breasts were bared, she leaned against the wall, her arms over her head and wrists together. Like a willing sacrifice for a religion no longer believed in.

He got up from the sofa in a swift movement, his fingers opening his belt buckle over his prominent bulge with practised moves. When he plunged into her wet snatch a short while later, and her legs fastened around his waist, he asked, breathless, "Why don't you fight against me like you used to? Why do you let me take you like you want it?"

In that moment, she noticed another feeling flooding through her, starting in her feet and erupting in her cunt spasming around his prick: power over him.

"Because your lot took away everything worth fighting for." She recognized the confliction in his face when he came.

This time, he cast a long-lasting contraceptive spell before departed, one she knew the whores in the magical brothels used. Hermione realized that was, essentially, what she would be when this arrangement continued; and, for a split second, she debated whether she should try to fight it.

*()*()*()*()*()*

From then on, Draco appeared in her living room every Friday, like clockwork. As soon as she closed her door, he silenced her flat, because both of them could become very vocal at times.

After some weeks of restless shagging, Hermione realized they had become… attached to each other. It wasn't a healthy, lovey-dovey relationship with hand holding or sweet smiles.

But still, he kept coming back to her, again and again.

She awaited his visits because she strived for his touch, for every thing he made her feel, which was a wide range of emotions: rage, jealousy, fear, shame, and, above all, lust. Draco Malfoy let her experience things in her bedroom she'd only ever heard of. He became the epicentre of her personal earthquake, shaking her into being a bit like her old self in the days between.

Draco, on the other hand, gifted her with small niceties, like the already paid rent on the beginning of a month or the new blouses he brought her, along with exquisite lingerie. Once he brought her a small birthday chocolate cake with strawberry icing, wrapped in pink paper from a patisserie in Wiltshire on September nineteenth.

Hermione would have forgotten her own birthday if it hadn't been for the sugary surprise waiting on her kitchen table. Even without a card or a note, she knew it was from Draco.

One Friday, the blond didn't show up, and it left her anxious. When he came by the next week, Hermione asked, "Where have you been?" although she was afraid of what he might answer.

"I had to attend to some important family affairs," he answered, pushing the cups of her bra aside.

"Your parents?" Maybe Lucius had finally had the decency to die; or to be murdered.

"No." That was all she got before he closed his lips around her breast and everything else except him faded.

Not that it really mattered that he didn't tell her more. They rarely talked after sex, and if they did, it was about safe things like the weather or her day in the cafe she worked in. No magic. No war. Not their unhealthy relationship.

Hermione knew that their arrangement had an expiration date, no fantasies here.

Still, he was the only living being that made her feel; herself, her lust, her pain and grief, all melted together when she grabbed her sheets as he slammed into her, her knees pressed into the mattress. She didn't know what she was for him, though she sometimes caught him looking at her with a strange glint in his eyes. Yet, she could describe exactly what his eyes looked like when he was in the throes of an orgasm, like a storm forced into the insides of a flame.

Did that mean he loved her? No.

Did that mean she liked what they had? Did she hate what they had?

Hermione had no answer to that.

A/N: Yes, dark, and twisted, and not very nice. It was quite difficult to write for me, I hope it's alright for a dark story.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, this is it, the final chapter. I'm stunned at your encouraging and kind reviews, they're just WOW!**

 **Much, much beta love to LondonsLegend. She proofread this with so much power and creativity that it took my breath away! Thank you so much! Also she helped me a LOT deal to decide for an ending and pushed me to do what I wanted. Also a huge shout out to Iris, because she was so understanding of my plot panic!**

 **Hope you like it, A.!**

 **Definite song recommendations for this chapter: 'Novocaine' by Fall Out Boy**

Each week blended into the next, and Hermione's lucid phases became longer and longer, barely allowing her to be enveloped by the comforting numbness she had floated in for the last years.

Being awake hurt. Memories hurt. Surviving brought guilt.

What she didn't feel guilty for anymore, however, were the weekly meetings with Draco. She could deny the attraction she felt towards the handsome man no longer, but it fitted perfectly into The History of the Decline and Fall of Hermione Granger.

Stockholm syndrome? No. She wasn't a captive, not in the classical sense, at least. On the other hand, she wasn't exactly free. But it made all the difference that she looked forward to the Friday evenings, where she would come home from work and find him on her sofa, waiting for her; she lived and ached for his touch, his hands roaming all over her body, causing her to moan and cry in pleasure.

*()*()*()*

"Gods, Draco, I need more!" The half-dressed blond gave her a devilish smirk as he, once again, lowered his head between her legs and licked her slit from bottom to top with the flat of his tongue. For what felt like the hundredth time, Hermione felt the heat coil inside her; it was pure, sweet torture. Her thighs quivered in lust, but he kept her writhing and moaning, so close to the edge, until she begged for him to enter her.

She tried to move her hips against his face to gain a bit more friction, but he used his arms to refrain her from moving, "Such an impatient kitten. You know what you have to do to-" his verbal seduction was interrupted by a vibrating sound.

"What the Hell?" Draco got into a kneeling position and fished for something in his trouser pocket. Finally, he held a vibrating coin between two fingers that were still wet from being shoved into Hermione's quim.

"Fuck, an emergency at work. I have to go." The woman's brain vaguely registered the Protean Charm on the money, but protested as Draco got up in a haste, throwing on his shirt and robes. He didn't mutter words of excuse or give her a parting kiss on the cheek. They were no lovers, after all.

Moments later, Hermione was, once again, alone in her small flat, though the expectant heat between her legs hadn't vanished and demanded that someone finish what Draco so expertly started. Conjuring the image of Draco, his too familiar expressions, hovering over her with his cock buried in her to the hilt, her hands made quick work of her unresolved tension. With two fingers thrusting in and out of her pussy and her thumb circling the swollen bundle of nerves above, she quickly came undone, screaming his name to the surrounding emptiness when she reached her delicious peak.

An hour later, Hermione exited her bedroom after a nap and wanted to prepare some pasta for her dinner, when she discovered the familiar cloak still hanging over her single kitchen chair. Draco, the careless male he was, never hung it up properly on the rack. Hermione lifted the cloth, intending to store it away properly for whenever his owner would retrieve it.

Then, with a heavy _clunck,_ an object fell from the depths of the coat and onto her floor. Like in a dream, Hermione bent down to put it away again, but stopped when she realized it was a platinum ring that had fallen down.

A wedding ring.

A symbol of holy matrimony. Not that Hermione believed in anything holy anymore.

She had no idea what drove her to search the piece of expensive fabric further, but she did, until she held an intricate dragon hide purse in her hands and found a wizarding photograph stored away in it.

A photo that showed a beautiful brunette woman with a newborn in her arms, smiling gleefully at the camera. Frantically, Hermione turned the picture around and read the script on the back of it.

 _Our precious son and heir, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, on the day of his birth, *5/2/2006. Yours, Astoria_

Her raging intellect kicked into gear and she did the math; Draco's son must have been born the day he didn't show up in her flat. Fucking family business, indeed.

Just getting used to what it meant to feel again, Hermione drowned in the flood of emotions clashing over her like waves.

She had felt something for Draco, for the man she had despised since their youth. Not love, but a certain attachment, a venomous connection, that was now replaced by another feeling: betrayal. And rage.

It came over her like the sudden force of the _Cruciatus:_ she had become a Death Eater whore with a _liking_ for her position.

She had betrayed her friends, her family, and her magic, even when they were all long gone. Angry, hot tears rolled over her cheeks and fell to the floor next to the damn witness of Draco's real life.

She couldn't rationalize what she felt. After all, she had never asked about his personal life. He had never lied to her in that aspect, instead withholding the truth about his wife and baby son. He had a real family with birthdays, Halloweens, and Christmases. And nothing of it all was in the cards for her; Draco knew that. Nevertheless, he came to her, every fucking Friday, to fulfil his - and her - carnal needs.

Before she became a victim of her emotions again, her mind went blank. Blissfully, gratefully blank, as her survival instinct surfaced and, eventually, shut her off from reality. She could operate again, move herself from the kitchen floor she had somehow sunken to, and walk into her living room.

With demurely folded hands and a straight back, she waited. He'd come back. After all, he would have to take his cloak back home to avoid raising suspicions. Two hours later, when a plan had started to form in her mind, Hermione heard a loud _pop_ , and finally lifted her head.

"Draco! You came back!" she smiled at him, hoping to deliver a convincing smile that had no equivalent in her insides.

"Yes, I realized I left my cloak here. Sadly, I have another important meeting to attend, so I won't be able to finish what we started. Such a shame," he smirked at her, and, despite feeling hollow, her tears threatened to spill again.

"I agree. But I'm going to see you next Friday, right?" her own voice sounded foreign to her, so… dependent.

With a nod that was followed by the unnerving noise of disapparition, Draco disappeared into his world again: a world where magic was might.

*()*()*()*()*

In the early hours of next Friday's morning, Hermione didn't walk to work. Instead, she boarded the train that would bring her to Wiltshire. On her feet, like a meaningless piece of an amor, was her new pair of sneakers. With the rent Draco had paid for her flat, she could afford little things like those comfortable new shoes. On the map she had copied in the local library, it appeared it was some distance to walk from the train station to Malfoy Manor. Her memories of the manor were a bit foggy, but intricate details didn't matter anymore. In her former life, she had known the building like the back of her hand; it had been so important during the War. One had to know their enemy. Intimately. She would have been the perfect martyr now, wouldn't she?

When Hermione left the train station around lunch time, she ignored the delicious scents coming from the restaurants of the little town, instead following the country lane that led her away from there. The street meandered around fields and small groves, all colourfully reflecting in the warm sunshine, all so alive.

The peaceful nature around her made the woman contemplate how dispensable she was. Not only she, of course: the whole humanity was just a congregation of meaningless individuals, one species, if an arrogant one, among many others. And one day, evolution would tear it down. A strange serenity flooded her, because no matter what came of the day, the world would turn around her, the trees would photosynthesize, the birds would sing. This was only her endgame, her personal cataclysm.

When she had almost reached the driveway that she knew would lead her to the Malfoys' home, the sun had passed its zenith and it was nearing tea time in decent British households. Suddenly, with a screeching of this brakes, a pink truck came from behind and to a halt next to her.

She scanned the label on the side and identified the vehicle as a delivery truck from a patisserie. The very same patisserie her birthday cake had been from.

"Can I help you, hun?" the middle-aged driver, sticking his head through the open window, a smile on his tanned face.

"That would be great! By any chance, are you heading to the Malfoys?" Hermione shaped her voice in a friendly tone. There was no reason to do otherwise.

"Yes, hop on!"

Without hesitation, she climbed into the truck. Her Trojan Horse. Once inside, the driver made an effort to hold some small talk. "What do you want in this gloomy house? You look so different from those weird people that live there! Not that it concerns me, but the Malfoys are… different."

"You have no idea."

With that, the conversation was finished, and she spent the short ride towards their destination in silence, not giving the driver a concrete answer to his question. She jumped out of the truck as soon as it slowed down on the gravelled pathway to the delivery entrance and ducked immediately. Without her wand to use a Glamour, she had to rely on muggle tactics: with her head low and eyes alert, she ran towards one of the outer walls and pressed her back against it.

Slowly, she inched towards the nearest window, which she knew were magically warded against magical attacks. When she had learned during the War that Malfoy Manor's windows weren't protected against sheer, physical force, she had laughed at the unbelievable arrogance that was a characteristic trait of Draco's family. She took the heavy stone she had pocketed on her march through the countryside and tested its weight again. With a huge swing, she threw it against the floor-deep window, and cracked the perfect facade of the manor.

It was so easy to reach through the hole in the glass and use the handle to open it. Hermione carefully stepped over the shards and just then realised which room she had chosen to enter: the drawing room.

One glance at the expensive, peruvian carpet and she saw stars dancing in front of her eyes. She had spilled so much blood there, writhing and screaming under Bellatrix until her throat was raw. A sob escaped her now, the vision blurring, be it because of the tears that ran down her cheeks or her eyes that refused to see the room around her.

Suddenly drained of all energy, she sank to her knees, every muscle in her body shaking, every nerve reliving the pain of that day, making her forget to breath. Her memory presented her with images of Bellatrix carving the cursed words into her soft skin, blood, as red as any human's, trickling onto the soft fabric of the carpet and over her palm. Grey eyes, staring into hers, either uncaring or helpless. Draco's eyes.

Her survival instinct, finally triggered by the lack of oxygen in her blood and brain, screamed at her, ' _Breath, Hermione!_ ' and she took one deep, liberating breath. And breathed out again. And in.

Slowly, she came back to her senses and tried to reason with her war ridden memory. They escaped that day. Ron, Harry, and herself. They made it out alive, even when it all went to Hell later on, even if she couldn't recall the details of their flight.

They had been so determined in their plan to take Voldemort down back then, so sure of themselves.

But today she also had a mission, she remembered; one that called for her utmost dedication. This time, she didn't fight for the 'greater good' power hungry fool like Dumbledore had sold them out to; she fought for herself, her life, her future.

Shrugging off the remnants of her panic attack, she got up again, stretching her tense limbs. She then strode to the door at the other side of the room, resisting the urge to look for blood stains on the carpet. Hermione wandered through the halls of the ancient house, trying to remember the location of one particular room, when she heard a soft voice singing. Carefully, as not to draw attention to her person, she followed the tune of what she recognized as a wizarding lullaby. The young woman was met with the perfect picture when she entered the room where the music came from, the nursery, to be precise: a beautiful woman with long brown hair sat in a rocking chair next to the double-winged window, which granted a magnificent view over the Malfoy estates. In her arms, wrapped in a soft looking green blanket, was a sleeping baby, his bright blond hair peeking over the edge of it.

Scorpius and Astoria; Draco's innocent son and his wife. The young witch was either naively ignorant or a willing bystander of the violence around her. Months ago, Hermione would have envied Astoria because of the perfect life she lived, and, for a moment, she allowed her mind to spin an alternate universe in which she was the woman on Draco's side and birthed his child, and where Harry won. But destiny had taken from her the opportunity to have a small bundle like this in her arms, to create life from her own - at least for now.

A glance to the counter next to the door told her that Astoria was unarmed as her wand lay there, out of reach, proving again how far away the other woman was from the war and the society that was Hermione's reality. For a second, she asked herself if the other woman knew of Draco's extramarital sex, but then again, it wouldn't change anything.

The young Mrs. Malfoy must have heard someone's steps on the mahogany floor, because she started, without looking up from her precious baby, "Draco, you're back early! You just missed me feeding our son, the little hungry monster."

"How could such an innocent child be a monster?" Hermione intoned, icily.

Astoria, finally noticing the intruder wasn't her husband, looked up surprised, and immediately secured the child against her. One couldn't overcome their instincts; in Astoria's case it was the instinct to protect her offspring, in Hermione's case it was survival at any costs.

"What do you want? Food? Money? I- I can give you that! As long as you don't do anything to Scorpius! My husband..." she pleaded. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Hermione was aware of how she should feel pity for the young mother, but she didn't.

"Oh, I know your husband alright, or I thought I did." Before she finished her words, however, she felt, rather than saw, the magic of the bracelet on her wrist igniting. The silver chain emitted a blue shimmer, like a trap for insects.

She knew the moth would be there any moment.

Hermione soon heard someone approaching with hastened steps, and she knew that was her clue to act. With a determined grip, she dove her hand into the back pocket of her worn jeans and produced a knife she had stolen from the cafe the day before.

It was a simple, yet very sharp, kitchen knife, but it would work. With a strong tug on Astoria's fine robes, Hermione pulled the witch towards herself. The younger woman struggled against her grip, but her arms were occupied holding her newborn, and as soon as she felt the sharp blade at her throat, she stilled.

When Draco entered the room, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened, he did so with his wand stretched out in front of him. His grey irises quickly scanned the situation and narrowed in on Hermione.

"Drop the knife!" There was an edge of panic in Draco's voice.

"No."

"Please, Hermione…don't hurt them, they're innocent. You're not really capable of seriously harming an innocent human soul." Draco Malfoy pleaded for the life of his wife and son. How remarkable.

She let the knife scrape over the whimpering witch's throat in her grip, drawing a trail of blood. "Times change. Maybe I am now." And she didn't even feel…anything.

Except control.

Control over the blond man who always seemed to have control over her. He had never appeared so _unhinged._ Draco's pupils were blown, and his soft hair was ruffled. Still, he didn't appear overly surprised at her violent behaviour. Had she given him any indication that this would happen? That she had chosen a Friday for her nefarious plans because she wanted to be found? She knew he'd activate the magical tracker in her bracelet, this selfish gift from him, when she wouldn't come home from work for the waiting Draco.

 _How the mighty have fallen_ , she thought in a reminder of a church visit long ago. Though, this time, she knew she'd be the one to rejoice and triumph.

Draco's demeanor changed, and his lips curled into a sneer. A last uproar against his demise, the final convulsion of a beheaded snake. "Hermione, you haven't made yourself false hopes, have you? Because we both knew from the beginning that there wouldn't be a happy ending, even if our encounters were positively satisfying in every way."

She snarled, her voice cold and her choice of words deliberate, "Not such smart words when I have your wife and heir at my mercy."

Pulling at his hair, the wand forgotten in his hand, the Malfoy scion whispered. "No, not so smart." The tall wizard visibly broke at the seams after scrutinizing her, his whole body slacking when he admitted his defeat by a broken witch.

"You win - this time, at least. What do you want, Hermione?"

"Obliviate me! I want to forget, Draco: the war, the blood, the magic. I want to forget how you made me scream in bed, how much I _enjoyed_ being fucked into a wakeful state by you." From the corner of her eye, she saw Astoria, still in her grip, flinch. Perhaps the woman didn't know, after all.

"But mostly I want to forget us. You. Myself." She didn't plead with him, didn't beg; Hermione Granger, muggleborn witch, proud Gryffindor, war heroine, _demanded_.

And Draco Malfoy could only nod. He raised his hand and muttered some words, too familiar with Hermione, but still not the ones she had expected.

" _Finite."_

*()*()*()*()*

Hermione awoke with a gasp, her eyes blinded by the darkness around her. The air was humid and reeked of centuries of torture, but she slowly came to her senses.

She realized her wrists and ankles were bound by iron chains that clung heavily to her limbs, binding her to a small cot. Then, she grew aware of another presence in her…cell? The heavy breathing indicated the person was as shaken as she was.

With what little strength she had, Hermione lifted her head and willed the spinning vision to stop.

There, on the floor with his back against the dark stone wall and his wand resting powerless in his hand on the floor, sat Draco Malfoy.

For some seconds, nothing happened, except the sound of her heart beating maniacally.

Then, Hermione remembered.

She had never left Malfoy Manor after the torture under Bellatrix' wand. Harry and Ron had been forced to leave her behind and she had been held captive in the dungeons ever since. She had no idea how much time had passed, but, judging by the smells of flowers and grass in the warm sunshine that sometimes drifted into her prison, she assumed it was almost May.

It was mostly Draco who 'visited' her, but, sometimes, Lucius climbed down to her. He seemed disgusted by her dirty skin and blood, so he never touched her; instead, he prodded her mind for information about the Order, about the horcruxes, about her friends. And that is how she knew the war was still going; that Harry still fought.

The witch firmly believed in the victory of the light. She had to. She just hoped she could hold the grip on her unrelenting sanity until the war was over, and she would eventually be freed. Until then, Hermione had to survive the horror of the fantasies Draco shoved at her.

After countless fantasies like the one she just woke up from she knew they had a pattern: they always started with a numbness that had to be the result of his personal variation of Legilimency, then they turned sexual with various shades of kinkiness. She had been gagged and dominated by him, her orgasms had been denied again and again until she begged for mercy. The most cruel fantasies, though, were those where she felt loved. By him.

Sooner or later, she would shrug the numbness off and find ways to turn his plot against him. How that was even possible, she had no idea. Hermione Granger was glad that things worked in her favour, for once. Sometimes she broke into Malfoy Manor or the Slytherin dorms, sometimes she killed him in cold blood - with a knife, a wand, or a poisonous plant she had stolen from an unknown garden. Given the opportunity, she would kill him in reality, too, without a doubt. Although, through the hate, she possessed something akin to pity for Draco. His conflicted emotions seemed so genuine in the dreams, like she was more to him than just the mudblood whose mind he fucked with.

In the previous days (weeks?) she noticed he spent more and more time in her company, even allowing her to eat and bath under his aroused gaze. As a result, he neglected his Death Eater duties. She knew this because she had overheard a shouting match between Draco and Lucius.

She didn't know how much longer she could rebuild her mental defences, for the last fantasy was the longest one so far. Maybe she was just getting weaker and it took her longer to turn the tides - or was her remaining sanity only an illusion, too?

What wasn't an illusion, however, were the sounds of walls crumbling down and curses shouting from above, resonating into her cell; a magical battle, undoubtedly. The cavalry was there.

Triumph and a sick pleasure filled Hermione, and, finally, she found the will to look into her torturer's eyes: Draco's stormy grey irises were wide with panic, and over the exhaustion of his failed Legilimency crawled horror.

"Did I distract you so much that you forgot a patrol or something? Such a pity," her vocal chords protested against their use and her throat was paper dry, but her tone was firm, strong against his weakness.

Someone yelled her name, frantically asking where she was. The woman was certain it was Harry, a desperate sound in his voice hiding the loving tint it had so recently gained before she had been captured.

Her eyes locked with Draco's, and she spat blood from her mouth, which could have come from her tongue or her lungs, onto the floor next to his feet.

"We win. Always."

 **A/N: *ducks* that's the first time I don't have a real happy ending. I struggled a very long time to write it like this, because your reviews were all so hopeful concerning Draco. I almost wanted it to end like: Hermione wakes up in a hospital. She's there because she got injured in an Auror mission, and all of this mess was only in her head as a result of a curse. Draco is her partner and they're desperately in love with each other. That would have been the safe way to end this.**

 **But, as I mentioned, MrBenzedrine always encourages me to write me out of my comfort zone. And, after all the struggles I had in the beginning, I enjoyed the darkness a bit too much. Have to cuddle some kittens now or something.**


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